Neither Fish nor Fowl
by The Amazing Maurice
Summary: The professors of Hogwarts awaken one day in summer to find themselves in a somewhat... transfigured state. Oh dear. Set in the summer before Harry's sixth year. chapter 1 up!


Neither Fish nor Fowl

Author: The Amazing Maurice

Summary: The professors of Hogwarts awaken one day in summer to find themselves in a somewhat... transfigured state. Oh dear.

A/N: Set in the summer before Harry's sixth year. No mythological creatures or beings were harmed in the making of this fic.

Disclaimer: I am not a professional writer, although I'd like to be. I am not a forty-something who is happily married with two lovely children, although it's certainly an idea for the future. I am certainly not obscenely wealthy, to my eternal regret. It is therefore logical to assume that I am not J.K. Rowling. Sigh.

Chapter 1: A Big Hairy Thing with Too Many Legs.

In the last weeks of the Summer holidays, it was quite expected that various inexplicable occurrences and minor pre-term adventures would happen in Little Whingeing, Surrey, in Ottery St. Catchpole, and indeed in any number of other locations. In Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, however, things were quite different.

Minerva McGonagall surveyed her troops, noting with satisfaction the attendance of every one of them, even Sybill; modestly acknowledging the attentive gazes turned her way; feeling accustomed pride at being the second-in-command of this, the greatest gathering of minds Great Britain had to offer—

"Bugger this! It's a prime evening for flying out there, why the hell are we all sitting around in here?"

Hooch's strident voice interrupted her fantasy, and Minerva was sighed as she faced the real situation: it was a muggy summer afternoon, there was absolutely nothing to discuss that they hadn't already gone over, and not a one of them wanted to be here. 

It was very hot in the staff room, and made stuffier by every single teacher being there. Hooch was leaning out of one of the open windows, sighing longingly at the (very) occasional breezes that wafted through. Sybill was sulking next to the empty fireplace; Minerva briefly wondered if she still had that wretched fire going in her tower and tried to squash the wistful hope that it would melt her before term started. Filius was supposed to be taking the minutes, but he was currently drawing a complicated doodle in the margin. Firenze was shooting nervous glances out the windows. Surely he wasn't still afraid of being high off the ground? And Severus wasn't even trying to hide the book he was immersed in – a translation of The Red Book of Westmarch, damn him; Minerva would have felt slightly better if it had been a textbook, and she could at least pretend he had his mind on work.

In the corner, Selena Sinistra's Exploding Snap Solitaire game ...exploded.

Let's face it: for the professors of Hogwarts, these last weeks were about as exciting as a concussed flobberworm. They were for arranging timetables, sorting out minor feuds between the staff, and trying not to get caught passing sweets in the endless, end-of-summer staff meetings. Not all were successful in that last venture, either.

"Severus! Is that a sugar-quill?" 

Feeling a need to vent her spleen upon a relatively worthy subject before her temper erupted in an inappropriate direction, she spied the red-and-green-striped confection being twirled between her colleague's long fingers and decided he was indeed worthy. She therefore proceeded, with some relish, to lecture him for the better part of a minute on the immaturity, inappropriateness, unproffesionalism and sticky finger-marks on the furniture that eating sugar-quills during staff meetings entailed.

There followed a brief silence in which most of the rest of the staff gazed at her with nonplussed expressions. But, spinning the quill expertly in one hand, Severus himself blinked dolefully at her, assumed an honest expression (something he was surprisingly good at) and said in a voice dripping with sugary sarcasm, "I've brought enough to share with the rest of the class, Professor McGonagall."

The snorts and sniggers this statement obtained from around the room rang in Minerva's ears. Swelling with irritation and indignation, she prepared to unleash her full wrath on the smirking (but subtly intimidated) Slytherin in front of her, when the Headmaster chose that moment to sweep into the room.

"Good evening, everyone! I am pleased to announce that not only have the latest talks with Cornelius gone as excellently as before, the house-elves have informed me that we are having roast pork for dinner, and that it would behove us all to attend the Great Hall before it grows cold. Shall we?"

With an appreciative murmuring and the scraping of many chairs (and in one case, the clopping of hooves), the staff room emptied quickly, except for Minerva McGonagall, who stood there fuming quietly. It had been somewhat rash, she conceded, to have a go at the only man who could out-bitch Hooch when she was on a roll, but nevertheless she vowed that she would have revenge for discomposing her in front of the other professors.

Severus, for his part, fully realised that he had just gotten away with murder and made his escape as calmly as possible, all the while fervently thinking kind, generous thoughts about Albus Dumbledore and resolving to watch out for rampaging deputy headmistresses for the foreseeable future.

Dinner was as wonderful as usual, though Minerva spent most of it glaring mutinously along the table, where the potions master smirked as blatantly as he dared into his roast potatoes. So fed, they trickled back to their quarters in the teachers' wing bit by bit, and by midnight all were sensibly asleep.

A little after midnight, something rather extraordinary happened. Some infinitesimal time after that, a loud wail rose from the kitchens, as from a new house-elf shutting her ears in the oven door.

*****

It has been noted that the professors of Hogwarts never use transfiguration (or any other of their various talents for that matter) as a punishment on students. Against other teachers, however, it is considered perfectly fair game.

So when, on the 24th of August, Severus Snape woke up in a somewhat different shape than the one he went to sleep in, he merely gave a small, exasperated huff and wondered how the hell Minerva had gotten past his formidable privacy wards.

He assessed things from where he lay. He still had all his limbs; that was good, although there was something large crumpled painfully under his back which hinted that he may in fact have had some new ones, too. A large beak dominated his face.

He lifted his head painfully and stared at what he could see of himself. The first impression he got was – black. Glossy, blue-black feathers and fur covered nearly every inch of him. He also – yes, he had a tail, a long, tufted one. 

As he gingerly levered himself out of bed, though, the most immediate concern became the long claws at the end of each limb. Being very careful, so the inevitable rips in the bedclothes would be as minimal as possible, he finally staggered onto the floor and across cold flagstones to his mirror.

When he positioned himself in front of it, it let out a startled shriek, which he ignored.

He had indeed been transfigured into a griffin. This was, as far as his mornings went, a bit of a bugger, but it wasn't the worst he'd ever had. He was a rather fetching shade of black, at least, and knowing just how good Minerva was at her profession he supposed he should consider himself fortunate that she hadn't made him some horrible colour as well as an irritating shape.

This being his last charitable thought on the subject, he stalked out of his chambers, preparing for a long argument on the appropriate level of retribution for a single sugar-quill, and hoping to be human again by lunchtime.

*****

Minerva McGonagall was rudely awoken from a promising dream involving little garden gnomes with sprigs of catnip attached to their buttocks (a dream that nobody would ever, ever find out about, even if she had to silence them herself) when there was a terrific banging at her door. 

Sleep-drunk and irritable, she began to rouse herself when she realised that she must have transformed in her sleep again – embarrassing, not least because she needed breakfast and coffee before she really had the energy to change back. So, mustering all her dignity, she shook off the covers, leapt up onto the sideboard next to the door, turned the handle with her paw and allowed it to swing open.

There on her doorstep stood an irate-looking griffin, and she immediately wished she had stayed in bed.

It was a sickly-looking beast, rail thin, but still perfectly capable of snapping up one little tabby cat in a heartbeat. But, Gryffindor lioness that she was, she first drew herself up, fluffed out her tail, made a mental note to have Words with Hagrid about his lesson plans and hissed "Shoo!" in cat before her panic could get the better of her.

The griffin ruffled its narrow wings imperiously and snapped, "Don't you 'shoo' me, Minerva McGonagall; I demand that you change me back at once!"

She nearly fainted with shock. "Severus?" she spluttered, goggling at the beast. Though now she looked at it, it did resemble his, what with its glossy black feathers and fur and underfed appearance, and its beak was so large that its front end more resembled a raven than an eagle.

"Of course it's me, you madwoman! Don't you recognise—"

He suddenly frowned at her, for it was then that his groggy brain caught up with events, and connected various pieces of information to form the conclusion that his initial impression had been wrong, and that there was something rather bigger at work than a slightly unprofessional prank. What tipped him off was this:

"Minerva... are your ears usually that large?"

McGonagall was about to ask what the hell he was talking about when she caught sight of her reflection in one of his large eyes. Gasping, she turned around and scrambled to her dressing-table mirror for confirmation. He was right – not only were her ears larger than normal, and fan-shaped, but she was bigger all over. And her tail...

"Argh!" she cried. "I'm a kneazle!" 


End file.
